by Dana Taylor
Rational thoughts splintered into cutting fragments and then dissolved entirely. Her brain dozed as her body still wept, curled into a fetal position. Blanketed in moonlight, blue air warmed her, offering slight comfort. Still, the longing remained, the bone-deep longing for love, for connection.
Fighting his way through dense brush, Phil heard the eerie, thin wailing. The hair rose on the back of his neck. He remembered the tales from his childhood of “haunts,” the lost souls that wandered the earth in perpetual limbo.
He followed the sound. It was real, not his imagination. Was it a cat? No, it really sounded like crying. Female crying. Hell, he'd heard that enough during his marriage to recognize it all right.
Branches in his path thinned out as he reached the rockier edge to the lake. Then there were only jagged ledges to navigate as he rounded a bend and came upon her-a pale form in the moonlight, curled on a blanket by the water.
Hair fanned out above her head. Turned away from him, her naked shoulders and back curved down to the rise of hips and white, beautifully formed butt cheeks.
Christ. He should just turn around and look for another fishing spot. But he couldn't leave. Couldn't stop moving toward her. Drawn ... pulled by an irresistible force. He paused for a moment and quietly put the rod and box down, then continued on the path, attracted by a fascination he didn't stop to analyze.
The sounds she made broke his heart. A vision seized his mind before he could shut it out. He'd heard crying like this before-through a locked door. He dimly remembered standing in the hall, slapping at the wood, too drunk to put it together or be any help at all. But tonight he was stone-cold sober.
He dropped to his knees before her shaking body. His fingers touched a smooth shoulder. Loneliness and despair radiated from her, emotions he recognized only too well. He wanted to help. Put an end to the pain-if only for a few stolen moments. Scooping her up against his chest, he fully edged down on the quilt. Holding, helping, healing. That's all he meant to do.
Maddie drifted in some personal nether world. Half-asleep, she relived a kaleidoscope of Thomas moments. The teasing beginning, the happy middle, and the betrayal of the end. She gasped, feeling herself suddenly against a warm chest, wrapped in security. Thomas had returned to her, if only in her dreams. She lifted her arms and clasped them around his neck, pressing her face against his shoulder.
Thomas? No, not Thomas. Better than Thomas-warmer. A dream man, then. Exactly what she needed. Sometimes an overactive imagination paid off. Oh, yes, this is what she wanted, longed for. Lord, he smelled really good, too. Tasted good. Felt good.
She let loose-an explosion of estrogen and emotion. Come on, Dream Man, fly me to the moon.
The mystery woman's passion inflamed Phil. She kissed his neck, entwined her limbs about him. She smelled of sweet wine, chocolate, the lake and woman. He'd only meant to offer comfort, but holding a voluptuous volcano threatened to set them both on fire.
He struggled against the temptation. Against the rush of desire. He pulled her arms away from his neck in an attempt to cool things down. She caressed his chest instead.
Oh man. Oh man, oh man.
She trailed a line of kisses down his neck and found the material of his shirt displeasing. Buttons flew as she ripped his shirt apart. Hot hands darted over him. He tried to still them. Honest to God, he did.
Never opening her eyes, she nestled against the curly nest of hair resting on his chest. He savored the feminine scent tickling his nose.
He took a deep breath. Okay, sweetheart, we'd better call it quits.
Before he could push away, she shoved him flat on his back. Phil found himself covered by a ravenous Moon Goddess. She nuzzled his pecs, making the blood rush to his groin.
Oh, Jeez, when was the last time he'd felt this damn good? Just another second and he'd put an end to it.
She rose over him; silky hair concealed her face. His eyes lit on a trio of small moles on her white throat. Glimmering light glowed around her milky skin, enhancing the sense of unreality. Was this really happening? How could he resist the bountiful breast poised so close to his mouth? When he encircled her with his lips, the Moon Goddess moaned and writhed.
Then her hand found him, caressing, arousing.
Oh God. Oh, Jeez. Oh, man.
Phil Cox gave up the struggle of conscience and accepted the gift. One night of ethereal oblivion, a magic carpet ride to the stars.
Together they slid onto the hand-crafted squares of Grammy's quilt, wrapped only in each other and blue light. Nobody else existed-only the Dream Man and the Moon Goddess. Cocooned in moonbeams, silvery light sparkled around them, swirling, spinning.
A face on the giant orb in the shimmering sky appeared and grinned. Oh, how he enjoyed bringing these mortals together ... That ole Devil Moon.
Meet the author:
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Dana grew up in California, a true American with a Hispanic father and a mother of German/ Norwegian descent. An internship at a theater in Oklahoma City her senior year in college sealed her fate when she met a young lawyer and fell head over heels in love. She wed the lawyer and embarked on married life. The ensuing years produced two beautiful daughters and a series of life experiences. Through busy times, she managed to write an article for the Ladies Home Journal, smaller magazines and several show scripts for the Oklahoma City Chorus of Sweet Adelines. By December of 2000, she'd been working as her husband's secretary for five years and was totally burned out. One wintry day he took her out to lunch and fired her (as his secretary, not his wife). And so, she finally got a chance to start writing down those stories that had been buzzing around in her head. Writing has opened up a whole new world and friendships with people all over the globe.
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